


Slower Days

by atheniavenesia



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blackwall's very hairy and I think that's beautiful, Character Study, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Original Character(s), Post-Game(s), Praise Kink, Qunari Hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24573961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atheniavenesia/pseuds/atheniavenesia
Summary: Blackwall’s a man of action. Void take him, but Kaaras is, too. Slow days with nothing but sweet kisses aren’t for people like them. He wants to try, though. He wants some selfishness.Kaaaras is the Inquisitor, all the way until he isn't. He learns to make a life after it.
Relationships: Blackwall/Male Inquisitor, Male Adaar/Blackwall
Comments: 11
Kudos: 32





	Slower Days

**Author's Note:**

> This got a little out of hand. I wanted to make something for my favorite Inquisitor and my favorite LI, and here we are. Enjoy !

Kaaras knows about the peace to be found in combat. Even casting from a distance as he does, there’s a rhythm to it. The breathe and flex of battle is almost meditative. Maybe it’s because of his understanding that he understands Blackwall.

Sometimes, long after Skyhold has gone to sleep and the only scurrying feet belong to the rats and guard patrols, Blackwall’s mind goes distant. They lie in bed together while Kaaras watches the glaze of attack and defend descend on him. There’s a war within him, Kaaras recognizes.

It’s not one he can allow allies for. Kaaras understands this, too. He’s not renown for his subtlety, but he tries in those moments. He feigns sleep, pretends the tightening of his arms around Blackwall is the unconscious movement of a dreamer.

He thinks, during the quiet moments of the day, that he’s fooling nobody. They’ll take dinner together and Blackwall will rest a hand on Kaaras’ thigh. The gratitude in it is almost heady. After, they’ll go back to Kaaras’ chambers and have slow, tender sex that leaves them both wrung out.

It’s not enough.

The moments they steal from between Inquisition business aren’t enough for them. Kaaras thinks he hates it, this Inquisition. He doesn’t say it aloud. Can’t say it. He smiles at the pilgrims to Skyhold, visits the medical tent, and can’t take this contentment from them by voicing his feelings.

They think they need him. They think it so desperately that it’s all that shows in their reverential stares. He remembers those first few weeks, the fear the Chantry had of them, and it makes more sense than ever.

What makes it worse is that they’re wrong. They’re _wrong_. They don’t need him. What they want, what they need, has nothing to do with him. They need each other. They need one another so badly that it turns his stomach to see them ignore it.

He’s no teacher. He’s no healer, never has been. He’s certainly no philanthropist. Those things come from the hordes that flock to the banner of the Inquisition. They don’t need anything from him but the excuse to care for one another. The figurehead to lay their hope and blame upon.

Each day that he wakes up with the coarseness of Blackwall’s beard against his forearm and bones starting to ache with old injury, he thinks that it’ll be one more day. Corypheus is gone, he’ll say into the gloom of the dawn. Any day, they’ll shut it all down.

Blackwall will grumble and shift until they’re pressed against each other. Why, he’ll ask. He doesn’t want the answer, not really. He doesn’t want for anything this early in the morning.

Kaaras will answer, though. He’ll explain that the excuse is gone now. He’ll explain that he doesn’t want an empire. He might even make a joke that it was a cardinal sin in the Valo-kas mercenaries to overstay their contract.

In the end, though, silence will reign until it doesn’t. There isn’t much in the way of birds this high up, not really. Instead, the song that announces the morning is the clanging of troops in the courtyard.

It’s only barely audible in the distance, but it wakes Blackwall up in earnest. He’s a solider, certainly; always awake at the first sounds of muster. He’ll move his hips, press the early morning hardness of his cock against Kaaras. He’s a man, certainly; single-minded in his routines.

Even before the mark, his magic had been about disruption. He found the clean lines of nature, of the fade, of other spells, and changed them. Then he ended up with anchor and he could do more. He could see the veil, could reach in with his magic to rip and repair as he saw fit. The disruption of the natural order of things was something of a hobby for him.

In that way, it’s a relief when the pattern his life has made breaks. It shouldn’t be a surprise, not with his talents, but it manages nonetheless. He wakes one morning and can’t find the excuse to go on with it. Not today.

He pulls himself out of bed, shushing Blackwall when he shifts. He says he’ll be right back, just needs to take care of something. Blackwall, to his credit, trusts him enough to subside. He shifts into the warm spot Kaaras leaves behind, turns his face into the pillows. Kaaras doesn’t understand the cold like a human, but he knows the tower is chilly on its best days.

He smiles at the ball his boyfriend curls into. It’s always been funny to him, the way Blackwall complains about the cold. All that hair, he would tease, and still cold? Blackwall would grumble and curl up against Kaaras. Can’t all be beast men like you, he would reply. Kaaras would laugh, say he though Blackwall was a great big bear himself. Blackwall would smile against his chest, press himself further against Kaaras.

He needs those small moments. He wants them to stretch out until it’s all he has. He’s under no delusions, though; Blackwall’s a man of action. Void take him, but Kaaras is, too. Slow days with nothing but sweet kisses aren’t for people like them. He wants to try, though. He wants some selfishness. He pulls clothes on over the smalls he’s sleeping in.

He goes to the war room. There, he asks the sentry to grab his advisers. Nothing urgent, he warns. Just a conversation. Early as it is, he has no doubt they’ll be up. They take to their responsibilities in a way Kaaras can’t manage. He supposes he should feel ashamed about that. He came into his own in a mercenary company, though, cut his teeth in life and death struggles. He learned early that there’s no shame in being incapable. Shame lies in pretending otherwise.

Cullen is the first to arrive. He’s got the glow of exertion on his cheeks. Even now, he trains with his men as if he’s just another soldier. It’s admirable. He knows what it does for morale to see the Lion of Skyhold running drills and laughing with his men.

Just behind him is Josephine. She’s not in nightclothes, not as Kaaras understands, but it’s hardly up to her usual standards. She stifles a yawn against the back of her hand. Her greeting is sleep-heavy. Kaaras feels guilty.

“It’s no problem,” she deflects. “I was only finalizing a few contracts.”

Kaaras smiles softly. “’A few?”

She doesn’t blush, but maybe it’s only long practice at avoiding it. “A bit more than a few, I admit.”

Kaaras laughs. He sees Leliana slip in. She looks the same as always. Her eyes are intent on him for a moment, but it passes. The set of her shoulders implies a knowledge of what’s to come. He reassess Josephine, then, finds the same with her. She’s got her diplomat’s smile on. Real enough, sure, but he can see the force of her mind turning. He realizes Cullen is the only person that doesn’t know what’s coming. It makes it easier, he thinks.

“I apologize for a meeting this early in the morning,” he begins.

Leliana inclines her head. “I think we’re well past politeness, don’t you?”

Kaaras smiles. “I guess. I wanted to try it out, at least.”

“Of course you want to try now,” Josephine feigns offense. “It would have been much more appreciated during our last formal visit to Val Royeaux.”

Cullen snorts. He has the decency to cover it up with a cough. Kaaras realizes he’s going to miss them. He’s made friends, he supposes.

“I wanted to leave a good last impression, I guess,” he says.

Cullen’s smile falls. “’Last impression’? What’s all this about?”

Leliana doesn’t even feign shock to match Josephine. Instead, she nods. Her hands are still clasped behind her back, but he can see the tension drain from her arms.

“Where will you go?” she asks. “Back to the Free Marches?”

“Maybe I don’t want to tell you,” he says. He smiles while he does, softens it into a joke. “It’ll keep you in good form, Nightingale.”

Her brows draw down. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hide the part of it that wasn’t a joke, not at all. He needs solitude.

“You’ve made quite a few enemies,” Josephine offers. “Enough to match your allies, at least. Are you sure it would be safe?”

“I’m a mage,” he counters. “A good one. I think so, at least. And”—he can feel the blush start, know it turns his gray skin nearly purple—“I wouldn’t be alone.”

Josephine smiles. She’s the only person in the room that had grown to forgive Blackwall. Not the same way Kaaras has, but enough to keep him from feeling cornered in the wake of his judgment. In another world, he thinks, she could have made Blackwall happy. She could have made Kaaras happy, too.

Cullen isn’t taking it as gracefully. He hasn’t had the same time as the others to get used to it, Kaaras thinks. He’s too introspective to have read the same signs as Josephine and Leliana.

“Is that supposed to be some comfort?” he asks. “We can’t very well shut down the Inquisition. We’re doing good work. Here in Ferelden and all across Thedas.”

Kaaras brings a hand up to scratch at the base of one of his horns. “I wasn’t proposing that we shut down the Inquisition.”

Cullen almost splutters. “We’re supposed to continue on without the Inquisitor? Have you gone mad?”

Kaaras understands, then. Cullen’s a man of conviction, sure. More than that, though, he’s a man of faith. Templar to Commander, he fights for ideals. It’s what makes him such a good leader, Kaaras realizes; he can devote himself to an idea, drive others to the same. He knows what Kaaras leaving will do to the masses because he knows what it’ll do to himself.

Kaaras sighs. He needs to explain himself. Not for his own sake, but for the sake of these friends he’s made.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he begins. He shakes his head. “That’s not… I could do it. I could keep this up until it breaks me, I think. But it’s not who I am. I don’t want to be an idea anymore. I want to be Kaaras. The person, not the chosen of Andraste.”

Cullen is biting at his lip, his scar turning the motion lopsided. “But…”

He doesn’t finish. Kaaras understands anyways.

“I can’t say I don’t care about you. All of you are important to me. More than you know. That’s why I’m leaving. I couldn’t trust something like the Inquisition to anybody else. If anybody could use this power for good, it’d be the three of you.”

Josephine claps her hands to her mouth. Her eyes are wet. He smiles at her and she returns it with a watery laugh.

“You were serious about leaving a good last impression,” she jokes. “I’m certainly going to remember that.”

Kaaras walks over to crush her in a hug. He lifts her, does a spin until she’s laughing against his chest.

“I suppose I understand why Thom’s so smitten with you,” she says. “That was certainly something.”

Kaaras laughs. He turns to Cullen, still stewing. He’s so lost in thought, he doesn’t see Kaaras approach. He lets out what Kaaras is charitable enough to describe as a manful shout when Kaaras does the same to him that he’d done with Josephine.

“Kaaras!” he shouts. He almost drowned out by the matching laughter of Kaaras and Josephine. “This is hardly appropriate!”

Kaaras sets him down, grins at the flush of his face. “I was unaware I had a reputation as appropriate.”

Cullen looks down, but the crease between his brows is gone. Kaaras turns to Leliana and she points one of her sharp fingers at him.

“Oh, don’t you dare,” she orders.

He takes an innocent step towards her. Another, another, and then she’s rolling her eyes. She holds her arms out and submits to it. When he finally sets her down, even Cullen is laughing again.

“Not one word when we leave this room,” she says. “I have a reputation.”

Cullen is in disbelief. “And I don’t?”

Josephine brings a finger to her lips like it’s going to cover her smile. “Of course you do. Your huggability is half the reason we got invited to the Winter Palace.”

Cullen is speechless for a moment. Finally, “only half?” and Josephine is laughing again.

“The other half was your bottom,” Leliana offers.

Cullen goes red to his ears. Josephine laughs even harder. Kaaras only shrugs.

“It is nice,” he offers.

The atmosphere of the room is bright enough that Kaaras thinks he can bring it back around to his original purpose. As usual, Leliana seems to understand what he’s going to do before he does.

“I understand if you don’t want your location being public knowledge,” she says, “but at least let us send you on your way with gold enough to buy a nice home somewhere.”

Kaaras nods. “I’m still mercenary enough to accept a sovereign when it’s offered.”

Leliana gives one of her sharp-edged smiles. It’s not friendly, not exactly, but it’s knowing. Kaaras thinks they’re the same thing for her.

Josephine claps her hands together. “You wait a month, at least.” Kaaras’ brows raise. Josephine turns stern. “If you think I’ll allow the Inquisitor to enter the world without being supplied to my specifications, you’ve got an entirely different thing coming. You’ll need a wagon, new clothes, food, gear…”

She trails off, counting things on her fingers. Leliana puts a hand on her shoulder, starts guiding her from the room.

“Well,” she says, “we’ve got work to do.”

Kaaras nods and Josephine and Leliana depart with a farewell wave each. It’s only Cullen and himself in the room. Cullen fidgets, runs his fingers along his sword belt.

“I may not agree with your leaving,” Cullen says. “But I am happy for you. Friends are in short supply, especially friends like you.””

Kaaras nods in acknowledgment. “I have to say the same.”

Cullen looks to the door for a moment. His gaze slips back.

“I know you don’t want the Inquisition knowing where you’re going,” he says. “I respect that, even if I don’t understand it. But there’s a small village near Lake Calenhad, near where Haven once stood. Honnleath, it’s called. I grew up there. My sister, Mia, still lives there. It’s a quiet life, but a safe one. Selfish as it may be, the Inquisition maintains a patrolling presence for my own peace of mind. If you choose to, you could be safe there.”

Kaaras nods slowly. “Thank you, Cullen.”

Cullen rubs a hand against the back of his neck. “It’s nothing.”

A grin from Kaaras. “Thanks for nothing, then.”

Cullen chuckles. He leaves, too, and then it’s just Kaaras looking down at the war table. He reaches for the marker that signifies him — the eye that radiates light. He slips it into his pocket. He’ll move it himself from now on. He leaves, too, and then it’s just the dawn light turning the room pink and purple.

When he returns to his chambers, Blackwall is just beginning to stretch his way to alertness. His hair is mussed from where he’s been shifting around. He brings his heavy gaze to bear on Kaaras.

“Everything alright?” he asks.

Kaaras rids himself of the clothes he’d put on for his impromptu meeting. It’s only a moment’s deliberation before he takes his smalls off too. He slides his naked body into bed alongside Blackwall.

“Of course,” he says.

He reaches down, curls a hand over the hardness he knows will be there. Blackwall relaxes, eases his hips forward into the grip. His hand, though, wraps around Kaaras’ wrist.

“Is it what I think it is?” he asks.

Kaaras maneuvers the two of them, then. Blackwall ends up on his side, pulled against Kaaras tightly enough that there’s hardly room for a breath between his back and Kaaras’ chest. Kaaras, still with his hand on Blackwall’s cock, moves his other hand to Blackwall’s chest. He feels the rise and fall of him breathing beneath his blanket of chest hair.

“Depends on what you think it is,” Kaaras finally remembers to answer.

Blackwall release his wrist, lets Kaaras start to pump him, slow and easy. He’s no good at coyness.

“We’re leaving,” Blackwall says.

There’s a ghost of a groan beneath his words. Kaaras pushes himself impossibly closer, tilts his head so his lips brush against Blackwall’s ear.

“I suppose it is what you think it is, then.”

Blackwall starts rocking himself to the rhythm Kaaras is setting. His breath speeds up.

“Maybe,” Blackwall says. He has to swallow to get his words past the rasp of drowsiness and arousal. “Maybe you should have asked me if I wanted to go. I could stay with the Inquisition, you know.”

Kaaras licks the shell of Blackwall’s ear. He loves this part of sex with Blackwall the most; finding ways to break him down enough that his grunts and groans turn to gasping breaths. He knows what to say to get what he wants. What Blackwall needs to hear.

“I didn’t need to ask,” Kaaras replies. This is more intimate than the velvet hardness in his palm, the ass rubbing against him with every move Blackwall makes. “I knew you’d come with me. You’re meant to be at my side. Always.”

That, more than the hand on his cock, is what gets Blackwall to jerk and curse through his release. Kaaras knows it the same way he knows that Blackwall is going to turn around and stare at his mouth for a moment. There’s a moment each time they have sex when Blackwall hesitates. He stares at Kaaras’ lips like he’s afraid he’ll be denied. As if Kaaras isn’t helpless but to love him, to draw him into a kiss that’s sweeter each time.

As he’s foretold, Kaaras loosens his grip of Blackwall so he can turn to face him. His eyes fall to his mouth, trace his lips. Kaaras takes pity, as he always does, presses them together. It’s hard to describe it as chaste with Blackwall’s cum drying tacky on his own stomach, but it’s the best word he has.

It fails him, though, when Blackwall reaches down to grab Kaaras’ cock. He’s wound up from the heat of Blackwall against him, the way he uses his own spend to ease the way. Beyond that, though, there’s a savage sort of elation that spurs him to add to the mess on Blackwall’s stomach.

“That’ll be void to get out if we don’t get to the tub,” Blackwall idly says.

He makes no move to leave the bed. He throws an arm around Kaaras, rubs against the complaint of a rib that, once upon a time, had been broken and never healed right. Kaaras sighs at the feeling.

“Wouldn’t be a problem if you shaved it,” Kaaras says absently.

Blackwall makes an affronted sound, but his hand doesn’t stop the slow circles it’s making. Kaaras lets his eyes get heavy.

“Wouldn’t think of it,” Blackwall says. “I know the pelt is half the reason you let me in the bed.”

Kaaras shakes his head. “Ninety percent, at least. Other ten’s your beard.”

Blackwall rumbles a laugh. Their teasing is, somehow, just as tender as what came before. It’s what eases him enough that the space between blinks gets longer and longer.

“Don’t let me sleep too late,” he says. “I’ve got business.”

“Sure enough,” Blackwall replies. “You’ve got business. I’ve got you, though. You’ll sleep till you’ve had enough.”

Blackwall knows him, too. Kaaras wants to think of a retort, but it seems nearly impossible. Eventually, he’s thinking of nothing but the brush of Blackwall’s beard against his neck. Even that fades. Sleep takes him in the same way it leaves him — the space between moments.

* * *

In the end, Kaaras and Blackwall — he’s going by Thom, now — take Cullen’s offer. They use the money given to them as a parting gift from the Inquisition and buy a cottage on the outskirts of Honnleath. It’s nice enough for Ferelden, at least. Kaaras isn’t much for nationalism, but a winter in Ferelden is harsh enough that anybody could be forgiven for forgetting that.

Still, he’s grown to like it. It’d be harder, he thinks, to get peace back in the Free Marches. Too many agendas and officials, each vying for the Inquisitor. He certainly cuts a distinct enough figure that he’s found out before he’s even unloaded their wagon.

Fortunately, the person to do that discovering is Mia, Cullen’s sister. They couldn’t be more different. He can see how a force of nature like her might be a bit… overbearing. Even so, she does have her similarities Cullen. Most importantly, she’s not impressed by him. She looks him up and down when he arrives, folds her arms over her chest. Finally, she sighs.

“Thought you’d be taller,” she says.

Thom laughs from where he’s cataloging the repairs that need to be made before he’ll be satisfied with the house. Kaaras, for his part, just cocks his head.

“Can’t say I’ve heard that one before,” he admits.

She shakes her head. “Well, stories have a way of getting away from people. Let the rumors tell it and you’re the size of a human twice over.”

“Well,” Kaaras says, “maybe a dwarf. A short one, though.”

She laughs at his joke and then invites him and Thom to dinner with her family. She doesn’t take no for an answer, and Kaaras gets another taste of the Rutherford obstinacy.

“I won’t let you beg off,” she warns. “I’ll not have it known that I let the Inquisitor and his husband starve.”

Kaaras almost cringes at hearing her say husband. Still, “I’m not the Inquisitor anymore.”

She scoffs. “Makes all the difference in the world, does it? We eat a five. I’ll be expecting you.”

She sets off on the road that leaves back to Honnleath without waiting for an answer. He watches her go, lets Thom approach him with his list.

“What happened to Mister Big Strong Qunari?” Thom asks.

Kaaras is bemused. “He got invited to dinner.”

Thom laughs. “Let me know how it goes.”

Kaaras turns to look at him. “Oh, you’re not throwing me to the wolves. She did invite my husband.”

Thom’s wry amusement thins to show shock beneath. “Husband?”

Kaaras evaluates for a moment. “Do you want me to correct her?”

Thom averts his eyes. The question is heavy but not oppressive. Not here, with the wind coming off the lake and the the trees at the edge of their property carrying the heavy scent of the forest.

“No,” he finally says. “Makes you wonder what’s in those letters Cullen sends her, though.”

Kaaras snorts. The moment passes. Their new life begins.

* * *

Kaaras spends most of his time in town. There’s no school in Honnleath, he discovers on his second month there. Whatever reading the children learn is done between chores and work. Arithmetic is in much the same state. Worse, perhaps, because most parents in town can’t do much more math than is required to sell what they harvest.

He’s a mage, and a Qunari besides, but he’s also the former Inquisitor. When he purchases a building in town, still with that same stipend he’d left Skyhold with, the villagers don’t second guess his offer to turn it into a schoolhouse. He goes home the night after his first lessons and finds Thom already in bed.

“Enjoy yourself?” Thom asks.

“I’m not much of a kid person,” Kaaras admits.

Thom is silent for a moment. Kaaras doesn’t mind it. It means what he’s going to say next is thought out.

“Doesn’t take a kid person to teach what a child needs to know,” he finally says. “Just a good one.”

Kaaras wakes extra early the next day to work through his lesson plan. After the first week, the second, the third, he thinks Thom might have had a point. Strange to think of himself as a good person, though. The children, once the allure of a horned spellcaster wears off — and children really are nothing if not adaptable because it happens quickly — take to him.

Even the older kids, the ones adamant that teenagers are most certainly not children, like him well enough. He thinks there’s a bit of hero worship with those ones, but it doesn’t bother him. They’re old enough to remember the Breach for what it really way, to feel the echoes of those dark days. Regardless of the reason, they’re not afraid of him.

If he’s being honest, that’s what he was the most worried about. He’s not a kid person, sure, but he doesn’t want to frighten them. It would be a blow to his ego if nothing else. He looks at their unlined faces and quick smiles and is grateful. As the months stretch on, even more children arrive.

“Where’d you go to school, then?” Varuna asks.

She’s a freckled little thing, always ready with a curse she most assuredly shouldn’t be saying. She reminds him of nobody so much as Sera, and isn’t that a terrifying thought? It’s more than her speech, though. It’s the way she plays at being irreverent. Always with a joke, a question about nothing, but whip smart nevertheless.

She’s staying with an older couple in Honnleath, no parents of her own. She lost both of them during the Mage-Templar war. He recognizes the hurt in her the same way he recognized it in the masses of Skyhold.

“I didn’t,” he answers. “And what’s that got to do with multiplying?”

She leans back in her chair, balances on two of the legs. “How am I supposed to know you’re right about it all? Blind leading the blind, and all that.”

He rolls his eyes. That’s another reason the older ones like him, he thinks. He treats them the same way he treats the adults.

“I can count, for one.”

Always with a response, she sticks her tongue out. “So can I! The important things, at least.”

“Then what’s twenty-seven times seventeen?”

She drops her chair back onto four legs. “How am I supposed to know?”

He returns her incredulous stare with raised eyebrows. “Pay attention.”

She grumbles, a few of the others laugh, and the lesson continues. It’s only five minutes, though, before she’s getting up and shouting.

“Four-hundred and fifty-nine, you blighter,” she crows.

She’s still got her fingers held out where she was counting on them. He should reprimand her, he knows, but he has to laugh first.

“Varuna,” he manages. “You can’t say that.”

“Well it’s what you are,” she answers. “Trying to trip me up. You know I hate doing the seventeens.”

They go back and forth for a bit, get the class playing along. Kaaras even manages to get them started on division before they’re dismissed. The kids chatter amongst themselves, gather up their rucksacks and trinkets. Kaaras is making it up as he goes, but it’s working out fine. Varuna gives him a wave, turns it to the finger once she gets his attention.

He laughs and sends a wisp of magic after her. She yelps and darts around the room. She’d been afraid of magic in that vague way all non-mages were, but not now. He can catch the grin on her face as he guides it after her. He doesn’t mind the life he’s carved out for himself.

* * *

Thom, too, finds his hobbies. The first few months are dedicated to home improvement. He replaces the porch, the doors, the flooring in the bedroom, and the cabinets. Kaaras is half-convinced he’s going to have to talk him out of learning glazing to get the windows when he finally declares himself satisfied.

“For now,” he says, ominously.

He doesn’t understand what about that makes Kaaras laugh as hard as he does, but he’s a good sport about it. He subsides after only a minimal amount of grumbling.

Perhaps done with his woodworking, he takes to keeping house. He learns to cook. It’s a rough adjustment period, meals served either raw or charred, but it gets better. It helps, Kaaras thinks, that Thom’s so put out about it. He curses a blue streak every night he’s stationed in front of the stove until Kaaras has to kiss the flavor of his failure away. It endears him to Kaaras to see him be so assuredly bad at something.

He gets better. Eventually the food is good enough that it’s almost a shame to lose the taste beneath their kisses. It does nothing to stop them, of course, but the sentiment is there. The kissing and all that follows is another thing that changes.

Thom trusts him more, or else just trusts him different. One night, halfway through a bottle of rum a student’s parent had gifted Kaaras with a wink a few words about it being fair pay, his face turns red. Redder than the drink should make him, at least.

“I want,” Thom says.

He doesn’t finish. He turn in, away from Kaaras. It won’t stand. Kaaras tangles a hand in the too-long hair Thom’s sporting, directs him until they’re facing one another.

“Tell me,” Kaaras says. “Anything.”

Thom takes another drink. It steadies his voice, shakes his hands.

“I was a soldier,” Thom says. His voice is low. Ashamed, if Kaaras is reading him right. “I liked it.”

Kaaras misunderstands the intent. “Not anymore,” he comforts. “That was a long time ago.”

Thom shakes his head. “Not the… the end. I like the order of it.”

Kaaras doesn’t want to get it wrong again. He tries for coaxing, for kindness.

“What about it?” he asks.

“In Orlais, the whores were different from what I had in the Marches,” Thom says suddenly. “Different skill set.” Kaaras thinks it’s a non-sequitur, but Thom isn’t finished. “Paid for one once, bossed me around. Told me soldiers like the order of it. Always.”

Kaaras thinks he gets it. “You want me to order you around?”

It’s a question, sure, but something of a statement. Thom shakes his head.

“No,” he says. The renewed flush contradicts him. “I want you to do what you’d like. I just… sorry, I suppose. Drink has got me speaking in circles. I wasn’t saying much of anything.”

Kaaras smiles. He meant what he’d said. Anything for Thom. Anything for his husband.

“I’ll do what I like, don’t worry,” Kaaras says. He tries for something less oblique. “You’ll do what I like, too.”

It’s when Thom shudders that Kaaras knows he’s got it dead on. He leans over, takes his own swig of the bottle hanging loosely from Thom’s fingers. They kiss softly afterward.

“Stand,” Kaaras orders.

He’s got something of the Inquisitor in his voice. It gets Thom’s compliance as soon as the words leave his mouth. Thom sways, waiting. Kaaras wonders if he ever wound Thom up with his orders when they were in the Inquisition, if he ever had to fight the arousal clear on his face now. He asks.

Thom demurs. “I—I wouldn’t dream,” he stammers. “It wouldn’t have been—”

“Answer me,” Kaaras interrupts.

The answer is a long time coming. Finally, Thom swallows. The sound is loud enough that Kaaras can hear the click of dryness it makes.

“Yes,” Thom admits.

He’s redder than ever. Kaaras has to fight the urge to comfort him. He looks at Thom’s hunched shoulders and tenting pants and realizes he’s not the only one fighting warring desires.

“Did you ever touch yourself?” Kaaras asks. “Thinking of me ordering you about?”

Thom doesn’t wait as long to answer him this time. “I did.”

Kaaras has to admit the next question is for himself more than anything. “Why not tell me sooner?”

Thom has to avert his eyes again. He looks ready to combust.

“I was”—another swallow—“afraid you might think it was pathetic.”

There’s something of a lead there. Kaaras follows it.

“Well,” he says, casual as anything, “it is a bit pathetic. Don’t you think so?”

Thom makes breathless sound. He starts a low tremble all over, shivering suddenly.

“It is,” Blackwall agrees. “I’m sorry.”

There’s such a raw longing in his face that it almost hurts to look at. It must hurt, too, to wear it; it’s the only explanation for that shaking of Thom’s. But there’s something beneath that longing. He wants censure, Kaaras thinks. But this is for Kaaras as much as Thom. He can’t give him the humiliation. Not freely.

“Kneel,” Kaaras orders. “In front of me.”

Thom drops to his knees, approaches at a shuffle. His hands are clasped behind his back. Kaaras wonders what this whore in Orlais did to him. For him.

“Do you remember the first time I had you kneel before me?” Kaaras asks. “Your judgment, if I remember correctly.”

Thom is taking short, shallow breaths. He manages a nod.

“They should have seen you like this,” Kaaras says. There’s affection in the way he trails his hand to cup Thom’s face, enough to break the mood he’s setting. Thom, though, starts breathing faster. “But I think this is all for me. Nobody sees you like this but me.”

Thom makes a panicked sound. This, it seems, is almost too much for him. Kaaras, though, needs to know this new thing between them.

“You’re my precious thing,” Kaaras says. He’s sentimental in a way he finds hard. Thom’s shared enough of himself that it demands turnabout. “My wonderful knight. Mine alone.”

Thom shakes his head hard. It’s not denial, not exactly. It reminds Kaaras of the startled movements of an animal.

“No,” Thom begs. “Not that. It’ll ruin me.”

Kaaras leans forward in his seat, fixes Thom with a heavy stare.

“Tell me to stop,” he says. “Tell me to stop and it ends.”

Thom looks almost frantic. “I can’t. I can’t, Kaaras, please. Please don’t.”

Kaaras brings his hand to Thom’s hair again, this time to pull. His grip is strong enough that it takes Thom from the edge of whatever cliff he’s on.

“What will you do if you want it to end?” he asks.

“I’ll tell you to stop,” Thom says. He’s panting. “I’ll say it, I will.”

Kaaras subsides. “I know you will. You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?”

Thom nods. “Yes,” he says unnecessarily.

Kaaras has been cruel enough. Thom deserves the reward he’s craving.

“Take me in your mouth,” he orders.

Instead of answering, Thom exhales. This is more comfortable, Kaaras can tell. Sex is, after all, old hat for the both of them. Thom’s hands come from behind his back to work the laces of Kaaras’ breeches open.

“Enough of that,” Kaaras says once they’re undone. “No hands from now on.”

Thom nods. There’s no teasing in the way he takes Kaaras into his mouth. He attends to the task with preternatural focus. Kaaras can see the soldier in the way he applies himself. It helps him to understand Thom’s need for this; there’s nothing of Captain Rainier in the bob of his head, the drag of his tongue.

Kaaras understands, though, the balancing act Thom is performing. Too much and too little are both poison to this peace he’s achieving. Kaaras draws him out of his mind.

“You’re doing incredible,” Kaaras breathes. “Amazing. You’re my perfect knight.”

Thom starts that fine trembling again. He can’t reply, though. Instead, he just takes Kaaras deeper, makes a small grunt when his cock bumps the back of his throat. It’s not too different from what Kaaras usually says. The context, though, is what’s changed. This vulnerability of Thom’s demands the same of Kaaras. They look into the secret places of each other, turn everything new and sensitive.

“Thom,” Kaaras says. “You like this, don’t you?”

Thom looks like he wants to answer, to turn his shaking into a nod, but instead he goes as far down as he can manage, swallows around the head of Kaaras’ cock. Kaaras isn’t given to noise during sex, consequences of fumbling around in a mercenary camp during his formative years, but he gives a rattling sigh to show his appreciation.

“I don’t deserve a man like you,” Kaaras says. He ignores the whine Blackwall makes at that, brings a hand to run through dark hair. “A perfect man.”

Thom’s throat stops working. Beneath the tears of his gag reflex, there’s a different wetness. Kaaras, though, lets him pretend otherwise. He applies pressure to Thom’s head, spurs him back into movement. This kindness is for Kaaras, but Thom wants a firm hand. Kaaras can manage both.

“I didn’t say to stop,” Kaaras says. “You were doing so good before. I know you want to be good for me.”

Thom redoubles his efforts. Thom’s never sucked cock like this before, like it’s supplication It’s better than he’s ever had, but it’s not what get his balls tightening. It’s the desperate way Thom looks up at him. There’s something like fear in his gaze. Not of Kaaras, he doesn’t think, but of what Kaaras has said. He looks scared of that kindness. His trembling looks fit to shake him apart.

Beautiful.

Kaaras makes his first real noise of pleasure, a grunt that turns to a long groan when he spends down Thom’s throat. Thom, for his part, swallows it as best he can. There’s a moment when he mistimes the contractions of his throat, starts coughing against it. Kaaras doesn’t pull him off, doesn’t stop him from sucking. This is part of what Thom wants, too, he thinks. He just loosens his grasp enough that Blackwall can pull back if he wants. He doesn’t, though. Kaaras hadn’t thought he would.

Eventually, Kaaras has had enough. Thom’s just licking him now, his breath hot on Kaaras’ balls while he makes lines up the length of Kaaras’ softening cock with his tongue. Kaaras shifts in his seat, has to get a hand in Thom’s beard and hold him back from chasing him.

“Wonderful,” Kaaras says to soften the sting of it. “The best.”

Thom licks reddened lips. He’s more in his own body than he was before, more present in the moment.

“I,” Thom starts. “I need—”

Kaaras tightens his grip. The shock of it stills Thom.

“No,” Kaaras says. He catches Thom’s eye. “This isn’t about what you need, is it?”

Thom shakes his head slowly. The movement means Kaaras’ grip catches the hair tighter, tugs the skin beneath taut.

“No,” Thom says. His voice is raspy. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, my love,” Kaaras comforts him, lets a smile spread from ear to ear. “You just forgot.”

Thom nods.

Kaaras continues. “You’ve been so good for me. I want to reward you. Do you think you’ve earned that?”

Thom’s body almost bows. Kaaras can see the tent in his breeches, knows in the same way he breathes that Thom’s desperate for release. But the phrasing of the question is throwing him off. Kaaras only smiles.

“No,” Thom says finally.

The tendons on his neck are standing out.

“Why is that?” Kaaras asks.

It’s a part of this, he knows, to ask these questions. Beyond that, though, he’s curious. He wants to know the answers hiding in the dark corners of his mind.

“I don’t,” Blackwall says. “I can’t—” He cuts himself off to squeeze his eyes closed. When he opens them, Kaaras is struck all over again by the stormy color of them. “Please, Kaaras. Don’t. I can’t take it anymore. It’ll break me. It will.”

“Answer me,” he demands. “Please, Thom. Don’t you want to be good for me?”

Thom’s shaking reaches a fever pitch and then there are tears tracing wet lines down his face. They reach his beard, disperse into the blackness of it. Kaaras shushes him, rubs circles into his hair. He doesn’t tell Thom to move from his knees.

“You know what to say, don’t you?” Kaaras asks. He still has his voice pitched low. “If you need it to end, you just tell me to stop.”

Thom is near to thrashing about. He hardly seems aware of his tears except to tilt his head forward to keep more of them from running into his beard.

“I can’t,” Thom weeps. “I’m no good. I’m no good, Kaaras. No good, no good.”

It turns to a litany. Kaaras lets him continue for a moment, lets him leave the darkness of tears on the carpet beneath him. Eventually, though, he has to put it to an end.

“Thom,” he calls softly. Thom looks up like he’s shouted, eyes wide and leaking. “You’ve been so good to me tonight. So good, my love. You can do more for me, can’t you?”

And Thom can’t stop crying, not really, but he nods jerkily. “Anything,” he says between his hitching breaths.

And Kaaras holds out his arms, spreads his legs to make a seat of his lap. “Then come here and let me take care of you. For me.”

Thom gets up slowly, sinks into the embrace even slower. Blackwall’s solidly-built, heavy enough that his footsteps in their small home announce him long before his voice, but Kaaras is a Qunari. Thom, when he curls up in his arms, is nestled against him like he’s been made to fit.

“Let me show you,” Kaaras says. “Until you believe, let me show you how good you are.”

He unlaces Thom’s breeches, pulls his cock out. Thom isn’t quiet, not in the same way as him. He moans and gasps and bucks against the friction. There’s a beauty to be found in his body, Kaaras thinks every time he sees him naked. The red of the head of his cock coming from beneath his foreskin, the dusky base of him springing from the nest of dark hair that covers his body.

This time, though, Kaaras doesn’t look away from his face. He whispers sweet nothings to Thom, watches his swollen lips part around breaths that don’t quite make it all the way to words. His eyes are wide, unseeing. Perhaps they see more, though, than the room. The gray is fathomless in the firelight.

This night, Thom doesn’t last long. He spends in spurts that paint him white from his crotch to his beard. His eyes widen imperceptibly more when he does; it’s as though his orgasm has taken him by surprise.

Kaaras kisses him. It’s a moment before Thom responds to it. It’s not much, just a twitch of his mouth, almost a reflex, but it satisfies Kaaras. He pulls back, catches Thom’s eye. He’s stopped crying. Even as Kaaras watches, shame starts to creep in.

“None of that,” Kaaras says. “It’s time for bed.”

Thom only nods. He’s quiet while Kaaras runs a warm rag over the two of them, while he strips them out of their soiled clothes. This silence is as new as the sex itself had been. Instead of bothering with sleepwear, they crawl under their blankets naked.

It’s only when the candle besides their bed is extinguished that Thom speaks again. His voice is still raspy when he does.

“Did you mean it?” he asks.

He speaks softly, like he’s afraid of what Kaaras is going to say. He is afraid. Kaaras can’t explain to him that there’s no reason for for fear. He can’t explain that he couldn’t hurt Thom any more than he could stop being a mage, than he could stop his heart from beating. He can say none of that. He can only pull Thom nearer, press his lips against his hair.

“Of course,” Kaaras says. “Today, tomorrow, and always.”

This life, Kaaras thinks before he falls asleep, fits them. The sweet moments don’t stretch the way he thought they would, but it’s better than he’d hoped. Better than he could have dreamed.

**Author's Note:**

> This was sort of a departure from my usual style, so let me know if anything didn't work. Thank you for reading !


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